


Like Vines

by momohime69



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Canon, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bigbang drabble collections, Drabble Collection, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Build, and of course people die I mean it's SNK that shit is bound to happen, angst angst and more angst, just a lot of angst, mostly just canon though, rated M for some probably non-explicit stuff later on, there's also some one-sided MikaJean for the sake of canon, there's some humor too among the lakes of fluff and mountains of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momohime69/pseuds/momohime69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like vines, their fates were irrevocably intertwined. Armin decided this when the first seashell he picked up resembled the same one Jean held that time: white and powdery, cracked down the middle, and easily broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I believed in that once

**Author's Note:**

> I convinced an army of SNK fans to do drabble collections with me for different pairings; PLEASE EXCUSE THE RANDOMNESS.
> 
> Some of these drabbles will be out of order, written at random and without prior thought or planning, so I’ll try to imply which order they are located chronologically. I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I believed in that once,” Jean laughs as he glowers at Eren. “But the titans dying? That’s all just a fairytale.” And Armin doesn’t know what to think.

The mess hall echoed with laughter and folly just moments ago—giving him a headache and making him focus entirely on eating—and now, goes still and hushed—Armin’s mind quiets, too—as Jean Kirstein laughs and glowers at Eren Jaeger.

“I believed in that once—”

The tension suffocates him.

“—that one day, we’d be able to overcome the titans—hell, even exterminate them—”

Armin shifts his food uncomfortably.

“—but the fact of the matter, Eren, is that over twenty percent of the population died because of one wall collapsing—” 

Well, that’s true, but—

“—and if that’s going to be the case every time, I’d rather be in the innermost wall, the last to fall, and survive longer, even if I get eaten by a titan someday. Understand?”

“Jean,” a freckled boy coaxes nervously from his side.

Armin coughs as silently as possible.

“No, I don’t,” Eren growls through his teeth, fists tightening, and Armin sees Mikasa hold onto his arm, but Eren shrugs her off, glare trained on Jean.

Apparently, Eren and Jean had already butted heads on the first day of training. Whereas Eren aspires for the Scouting Legion, Jean focuses on the Military Police. Whereas Eren’s will plunges his life up towards the sky, Jean’s logic gravitates his ambitions toward the ground. Armin senses a storm brewing and considers intervening, but chooses to stare at his bread instead.

Like always, he cowers and hates himself for it.

“Retreating to the interior like some damned livestock,” Eren snaps, and Armin’s eyes burn holes through his plate, the tension creeping between his shoulder blades and gliding under his skin. “You call yourself a cadet?”

Armin worries for Eren sometimes. Worries what kind of trouble he will start up here with his beliefs and values, dreams and motivations, because these kids are different. They’ve never questioned the system or wondered about the outside world, much less seen a titan eat one of their loved ones alive.

Take Jean, for example.

“Call me livestock all you want,” Jean scoffs with a knowing smirk that twists Armin’s stomach, “but I’m just being realistic and saving my ’hind while I can. ‘Killing them all’ like you talk about—it’s just a fairytale.” Satisfied with his own opinion, Jean reclines in his chair, and everyone’s gazes skitter back and forth between the realist and idealist, patiently awaiting a fight.

Armin really hates tension. It sucks the moisture out of the air and cracks everyone’s lips. He wishes for the strength to speak up and put out of the flames of their rivalry, for both of them to see the bigger picture, but it never comes. 

Eren’s heart is in the right place, but so is Jean’s mind.

Eren’s fist is also in Jean’s face, the momentarily muted mess hall roaring again in chants and yells as Jean counters the attack, and Armin doesn’t know what to think past all of the din tumbling in his eardrums.

He only knows that he has to keep Eren out of trouble so they can visit the sea together. 

He only knows to look at the facts, read his books, and study hard these next three years.

He only knows that he should distance himself from Jean Kirstein—for humanity’s sake.


	2. Stripped of pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin looks like he’s been stripped of his pride, and Jean wonders how someone can look so drained and resolute at the same time.

“Arlert, you’re lagging behind again—”

_Again?_

“—and we’re not even five miles into the run!”

As Shadis continues ripping apart the weakest cadet, Jean and Marco keep their pace, bags colliding wildly with their shoulders, but Jean figures it’s fine, he’s endured this pace and adapted to this breathlessness anyway, just as he’s grown indifferent to Shadis’s torment. Marco still shifts his footing, though, freckles facing the wind behind them as he mutters, “You think he needs help?”

 _Help?_ Well, Armin did help him with strategic studies the other day, but considering Jean actually has a shot of beating Eren this time… “Nah, Reiner’s got it.” Reiner always keeps an eye out for everyone anyway, and just like the other training exercises, today is no different. 

As far as Jean is concerned, as of right now, Armin is none of his or Marco’s concern.

Armin’s probably a good kid, he decides—just one with shitty friends.

Like Eren Jaeger.

And with Eren Jaeger comes Mikasa Ackerman, and with those two in mind, Jean questions why he joined the military.

At first, it was because of the more comfortable, safer life within Wall Sina that garnered his attention. But now he thinks of his mother wiping his small mouth when he ate too much—the neighbor woman on her knees in the dirt, crying upon the news of her son’s death—the classroom hours he spent doodling damsels instead of listening to lectures—his mother smiling as he brought her the first meal he’d ever made—and to be honest, he doesn’t know why he’s here anymore.

He just doesn’t know.

“Jean,” Marco calls again, this time tugging at his sleeve and upsetting his pace, “Reiner’s arguing with Ymir over Christa up ahead.” He points into the dark, and Jean still doesn’t understand, but without another word, his running buddy skids to a slower pace, evidently stalling for the slowest cadet to catch up.

Much to his vexation, out of natural habit, Jean slows down alongside Marco, the mud dragging with his shoes, and by the time he’s realized it, Eren accelerates into tomorrow, out of reach.

_Freaking Marco._

“Armin! Let me help—”

_“Let me help you if you don’t understand, Jean.”_

“—before Shadis gives you trouble again!”

Armin’s eyes register shock, and he wheezes loudly enough for Jean to hear past all of the endless rain and wind, but Marco only swings the second bag over his shoulder and encourages the smaller boy to keep his current pace. Marco resumes his previous stance, but Jean lingers because of Armin’s unbelievably noisy breathing and near-death expression. 

He almost questions if he _wants_ to see the kid collapse.

But why he really stays—enduring this slower pace, ignoring glares from Shadis—is probably because of what shines in that weary blue gaze.

Armin looks like he’s been stripped of his pride—now, after accepting aid, he’s nothing less than worthless—it’s almost like Marco has unconsciously spelled the word “weak” onto Armin’s forehead, and he’s awake to notice—and Jean wonders how someone can look so drained and resolute at the same time. 

Gasping, winded, and still with sloppy swiftness, Armin tumbles toward Marco, stealing back his bag and rasping, “Thi—it’s mi—ne—” before making his escape.

“What the hell?” Jean mumbles ineloquently, musing the possibilities of how someone with such little energy and strength can manage to snatch their satchel and scurry off in a matter of seconds. 

More so than himself, however, as a silence settles underneath the sounds of the storm, Marco radiates surprise—and worry. “Will he be alright?”

“What?” Obviously; the kid’s running two meters ahead of them and gaining speed despite his awful balance and even worse tempo.

“He once said something to Reiner about not being a burden,” Marco recalls quietly, almost as if it’s more of a personal statement than an answer to Jean’s question. However, it’s more than enough as Jean stares after the tripping trainee, just barely a soldier, shouldering the cold and exhaustion despite his own odds.

There’s more to Armin Arlert than just a smart student after all.

Now—finally—Jean realizes:

 _This_ is why he joined the military.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was going to be told from Armin’s perspective, but then the prompt convinced me to try out Jean, so if the style is too awful, yeah, well, it’s Jean’s fault. I know nothing’s really happened yet, but I was hoping for a slow build drabble…of sorts…
> 
> *hides until the next drabble update*


	3. Defend yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You need to learn to defend yourself.” But Armin has difficulty doing so when—his entire life—he has always been defended by others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m an awful drabble writer who didn't update on time as planned. To apologize, here's a longer drabble with some Jean/Armin interaction and what appears to be - *gasp* - fluff! Enjoy~

Under normal circumstances, Armin would consider this the moment of his death. However, since his partner is Jean Kirstein and not Reiner Braun, Armin feels somewhat blessed, though still stressed, because his body isn’t suited for this, but, well, Jean Kirstein’s most definitely is.

Today, the 104th Training Corps spars. 

Armin stares at Jean, something sinking in painfully between his shoulders. He’s certain his combat skills have improved, but with a shadow towering over him, his confidence shrinks, and as always, he slips into a comatose state of uncertainty.

Although Jean doesn’t necessarily dedicate himself to his spars, he’s a good fighter when he puts forth the effort. Armin knows from the manner in which Jean blocks his opponent and strikes them when they’re not paying attention that he has great potential in combat. However, because he never fully applies himself, he doubts Jean will rank above Eren, who just swept Reiner off his feet and to the dirt.

Meanwhile, Armin partnered with Connie the other day, and despite his odds of victory—he’s taller, he studies the different techniques and methods every day, and Connie never takes combat practice seriously—Connie’s greater weight defeated him easily.

Now, tension creeps and silence stretches out between them, and he shifts and slides around the soil below.

But then Jean exhales, “Let’s just get this over with,” and puts up his fists.

And his initiative surprises Armin.

Armin has never defended himself before—he’s never had to. Within the wake of bullies, Mikasa and Eren always protected him. His intellect was his best weapon then, but those boys didn’t care about brains—only brawn—and whenever he got bruises, his friends would be there to prevent an onslaught of more to come. Even now, his fellow comrades repeat the process. Armin knows they do it out of care, but with their eyes on him, he feels he won’t grow to his potential. At this rate, he will never be able to shoulder the weight of his bags alone, carry on his and Eren’s dreams through battle, or defend the people he cares about most, and he wonders if the other cadets share this feeling.

Maybe, though, Jean understands this. Shadis isn’t anywhere near them yet, Armin’s still half a foot shorter than him, and reviewing his past spars in his mind, Armin doesn’t see why Jean would ever want to practice his combat skills with Armin.

Maybe, though, Jean simply wants to treat Armin as a replacement punching bag for Eren.

It’s honestly hard to tell with Jean Kirstein, so Armin doesn’t bother with the analysis any longer. He only mimics Jean’s actions, hoping that by preparing for whatever blow comes his way, maybe he’ll surprise Jean.

However, the taller boy looks like he fully expected this from Armin—which almost throws him for a loop, if not for Jean throwing his fist toward his shoulder.

Armin has never defended himself before, but when Jean swings his way, he manages to block the hit swiftly, ignoring the throbbing in his forearm as he maintains his balance. Jean doesn’t show concern over it, only going for a second attack—a swipe under Armin’s legs that he isn’t expecting—and Armin hits the ground hard, bashing his head, his elbow digging uncomfortably into his ribs as gravity bellows at him from all sides.

More so than the actual physical injuries, it hurts when Jean offers to help him stand up again.

“You need to learn to defend yourself,” Jean states obviously, and the words strike a nerve in Armin’s temple, so he pointedly ignores Jean’s halfhearted gesture of an extended hand in favor of swinging his own fist toward Jean.

However, he’s too slow—too _painfully_ slow—and Jean steps away before Armin even has a chance of colliding with anything but air. As his forms tilts and he instantly regrets this hastily made decision, Jean jabs toward his chin, and Armin manages to block with a wrist— _his wrist; oh,_ god—before Jean fakes out and smacks his other arm into Armin’s already sore ribs, and he collapses to the floor once more.

“Your body’s going to be prone to attacks,” Jean criticizes, and Armin wants to appreciate the analysis over pity, but his ribs and arms cry otherwise as he regains his stance. “You leave your opponents too many openings.

“You _really_ need to learn to defend yourself.”

His smaller fists curl and tighten because he knows Jean’s right, he knows that Jean always speaks logically—although not always sensibly so—but he still— “The day will come when I’ll defend myself properly,” Armin retorts, the comment continuing to tug at his eyebrow, the stinging in his ribs persisting as his gaze hardens when Jean laughs.

“So will the day when all of your protective buddies are dead— Oh, Shadis is looking this way. Better stop talk—”

One swing while Jean’s attention shifts elsewhere and he lands with a thud, screaming a curse as he holds his left eye.

For one moment, Armin feels pride. He no longer resembles a cowering child as his shadow stretches over Jean, and the pounding in his head and his everywhere, not to mention the zipping, dancing feeling in his veins, leave him feeling accomplished.

For the next several moments, Armin feels remorse. The adrenaline vanishes almost as quickly as it arrives; their friends rush to the scene of the crime to either check on Jean or congratulate Armin on a “job well done.” Marco inspects Jean’s eye with such care, shame crawls into Armin’s stomach and hibernates in the hot regret he forces down his throat. Mikasa stares at him blankly, shock clearly hidden in her eyes, and Eren pats him on the back, muttering, “He probably deserved it anyway.”

Out of place and out of nature, Armin wants to vomit.

Soon, numerous apologies spill out from his mouth as he searches everywhere reasonable for a washcloth and cold water.

After one such apology—“I’m so sorry; I don’t know what came over me, honestly”—as he and his best friend’s enemy rest side-by-side back in the barracks, Jean only shakes his head—surprising Armin again as he finds no genuine annoyance on the boy’s face. “Don’t be. I probably went too far with my last comment anyway.” 

_Well_ —at least they agree upon that bit. Despite his and Eren’s rivalry, Armin realizes that Jean would make a good friend.

“I mean, all of your friends _will_ die one day,” Jean continues, “but I recognize it was rude of me to point it out.”

And now, Armin thinks that Jean needs to learn when to stop talking.

“Sorry about your eye,” Armin repeats, probably sounding less sincere this time, but finding it hard to care. 

Jean doesn’t seem to notice, only sighing, “Nah, you have my respect,” surprising Armin another time, and removing the cold cloth from his eye, still swelling and raging red. “You got any bruises?”

He shucks up his sleeves to reveal the bruises from blocking Jean’s blows, his shirt following suit to reveal his purple-spotted torso, before proudly presenting his torn knuckles, forever angry and bleeding and requiring bandages.

Judging by Jean’s look of disapproval, he did not mean to compare battle scars in any manner whatsoever, which disappoints Armin. He didn’t expect any worry on Jean’s behalf for his well-being, but when the other boy chucks some supplies at him, he’s not flabbergasted by this turn of events after all.

Armin leans towards expressing gratitude, but doesn’t, given Jean just threw gauze at another injured person without holding back his strength at all; instead, he wraps his knuckles tenderly as Jean retreats to his own bunk without a second care.

Perhaps Jean Kirstein isn’t a person to distance himself from, but he definitely isn’t a person to grow attached to.


	4. He watches for as long as he can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watches for as long as he can as Mikasa eats her food and speaks with Eren, Armin at her other side. Jean hopes no one notices his staring, his admiration. However, Armin stares back.

Jean honestly attempts not to be obvious when he stares at Mikasa Ackerman from across the mess hall.

Marco leans on the table beside him, lively discussing his hometown with Mina, and Jean blindly aims his bread at his own mouth as his eyes train on the ace of the cadets. Eren wildly waves his arms around—flailing them, letting them fly right into Connie’s face—and she eats her food calmly, nonchalantly, her eyes trained on nothing in particular—just like any other day. Her hands nimbly pick at her bread, placing small pieces on Eren’s plate, and Jean feels his teeth tear against his tongue at the small gesture until Armin stops her, guides the food back to her own mouth. Her hair falls just above her shoulders, waving this way and wandering that way, and Jean gulps because the strands are as black as the night sky outside, the light shining brightly off of her like stars. 

He watches for as long as he can because, in this noisy, conflicted room, everybody only concerns themselves with their own business. Here, in the mess hall, he can unabashedly gaze at her, at her exotic elegance, and only hope no one notices his staring, his endless admiration for the girl, that within the noise and conflict, they only find themselves.

However, as he stares at Mikasa—her nitpicking, nimble fingers, midnight locks with a full sheen of stars on top—Armin stares back.

Quickly, he covers his eyes and rising blush because _oh, god_ , Armin noticed.

Out of all people, Armin noticed.

“You were obvious,” he deadpans later on as everyone showers and he and Jean clean up the mess hall’s scraps. Jean hadn’t opened his mouth, yet Armin clearly knew his question. Somehow, Jean thinks this kid may know everything, and the concept discomforts him.

Armin knows everything from the determination in his own core to the reason for Jean’s flushed face—and the thought of him pulling strings discomforts Jean.

“How would you know?” he mutters, kicking a stray chunk of potato.

“Because everyone already knows,” Armin informs him indifferently, and Jean sputters, the mere idea of everyone knowing seeming impossibly far away. However, Armin shows no amusement over this joke; Jean sweats, logic swinging at him hard in the face as he realizes he quite possibly was—still is—obvious about his admiration, these feelings bubbling up within his chest, and perhaps even Mikasa knows.

And if Mikasa knows about his feelings, he’ll truly die, whether it be by her hand or his own embarrassment.

His face feels hot—burns even more when Armin gives him that same stare again—the one he did before, when Jean praised the dark of Mikasa’s hair—calculating and cold, but curious—and suddenly, the dirtied wood below needs his broom’s full attention.

A chuckle collapses through the air.

Jean stops breathing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Armin repeats, hiding an evident grin, “but you’re just so—”

Jean about strangles him as the flames from his heart quickly turn into shame on his cheeks, Armin’s mirth never ceasing, but he wonders if humiliation is the only cause for the ruby in his blush.

Armin beams and laughs loudly, his expression new and foreign, and despite his own embarrassment, coated in surprise, Jean watches for as long as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it might as well be time that Jean's infatuation be known (this is canon, after all; it's not like his feelings for Mikasa never exist in this collection, jeez). Granted, there's more Jearmin to come. I'm a shit author, by the way, who appreciates any feedback on how I'm doing. 'Tis all.


End file.
